


Supressed Memories

by TsundereDreamer



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Lots of dark content, My own headcanon for her, She doesnt have a story yet, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsundereDreamer/pseuds/TsundereDreamer
Summary: Being bored can bring up memories and feelings you wished never existed...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble (fanfic?) I wrote in the spur of the moment. Its a headcanon one as Aranea doesn’t have much backstory to her yet. If she ever does that is… Nevertheless, this has some dark content (some outright and one implied) and inappropriate themes, so please be careful. Back away if these type of things bother you. Thank you. 
> 
> (This was posted on my tumblr roleplay blog, dracxonis.)

Bordeom. It was one of the many things the dragoon hated most. In the world of the living there were so many things one could do. And yet none of them interested her enough. Perhaps thats was her own fault; she was so damn picky. She could always go out on patrol. No…that was far too taxing and mundane. The magitek soldiers could handle such trivial matters. Lifting her cheek from where it rested on the pillow, Aranea shifted to lay on her back, sulking about the lack of entertainment. Idly playing with the material of her nightgown, she glanced around her bedroom–the blonde scoffed. As if this was her room– far from it. The same goes for Niflheim being her home. She had no real home…the dragoon was a mercenary given the title captain for her prowess in aerial combat. No more, no less. For many years now, Aranea had been bouncing from one place to the next, trying to find her place in the world. 

Gray eyes narrowed, deep in thought. This is precisely why having nothing to do was detrimental to her psychological health. She would start dwelling on the past. ‘Stop thinking! It’ll only open them up again!’

Her emotional wounds had never healed. 

At the beginning of her life, she was no one. A baby girl with a crown of silver blonde hair and no name, left on the doorstep of a seedy orphanage. At least, that’s what she had been told. Since then, she had been raised by the people who worked there. During her years there, loneliness became a big issue with Aranea. 

She had always felt different than the other children. 

But the tiny blonde could handle indifference better than the abuse at the hands of the adults. Having hopes that one day, someone would take her in and give her a happy home helped her survive. It still didn’t ease the stinging pain of the belt when she was naughty, the rough brushing of her hair, the slaps and name calling. 

Who’d ever think that adults would bully a child? Weren’t adults supposed to be a child’s savior? Those few years had turned her from a shy and gentle girl to hardened, cold 14 year old. Eventually her sanity began to wear down and Aranea’s tolerance for pain had built itself up. 

She also had little tolerance for others. 

Only a few short days before her 15th birthday, she snapped. When one of the female workers came in to check on Aranea and touched her; a scissor found its way into the woman’s arm in retaliation. 

Needless to say, the punishment she recieved was less than pleasant. Soon it came to light that her mental health was heavily declining and by the age of 15 was admitted into an asylum. 

Those particular years she tried to block out the most. Sometimes the dragoon would try to purposely forget and yet, her breast still ached with suppressed memories. 

The desecration of her purity by the workers there, the clamoring of the doctors, and—

Shaking her head and fighting back tears, Aranea curled into herself and for the first time, in a long time, she cried. And cried. 

Boredom was toxic, for it brings up memories that one wishes never happened.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I could do better...hm.


End file.
